


My Angel

by fckn_louis



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Fluff, Harry Styles - Freeform, Hospital, Kissing, Liam Payne - Freeform, Louis Tomlinson - Freeform, M/M, Niall Horan - Freeform, Story, Zayn Malik - Freeform, angel - Freeform, deep meaning, larry stylinson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 02:33:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4648935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fckn_louis/pseuds/fckn_louis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"His name is Louis, </p>
<p> </p>
<p>and I don’t have to ask why he’s here. The rope burn on his neck, the bandages on his wrist, and the skin and bones frame speaks volumes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The stacks of movies and the feather pillow booms like they’re trying to make him feel at home because he’s gonna be here awhile. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I manage a smile the first time I see him and it feels like the biggest lie that I’ve ever told, so I hold my breath cause I’m thinking any minute now he’s going to call me on it.  </p>
<p>I hold my breath because I’m scared of a 90 pound boy hooked onto a machine because he’s been watching me and maybe I’ve got him pegged all wrong, like maybe he’s bionic or some shit."</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Angel

It doesn’t matter why I was there.

 

Where the air is sterile and the sheets sting. 

 

It doesn’t matter that I was hooked up to this thing that buzzed and beeped every time my heart leaped like a man who’s faith tells him God’s hands are big enough to catch an airplane...or a world.

 

It doesn’t matter that I was curled up like a fist protesting death, or that every breath was either hard labour or a hard time, or that I’m always either too hot or too cold.

 

It doesn’t matter because my hospital room mate wears Star Wars pajamas, and he’s 19 years old. 

 

His name is Louis, 

 

and I don’t have to ask why he’s here. The rope burn on his neck, the bandages on his wrist, and the skin and bones frame speaks volumes.

 

The stacks of movies and the feather pillow booms like they’re trying to make him feel at home because he’s gonna be here awhile. 

 

I manage a smile the first time I see him and it feels like the biggest lie that I’ve ever told, so I hold my breath cause I’m thinking any minute now he’s going to call me on it. 

 

I hold my breath because I’m scared of a 90 pound boy hooked onto a machine because he’s been watching me and maybe I’ve got him pegged all wrong, like maybe he’s bionic or some shit. 

 

So I look away like I just made eye contact with a gang member. I look away like he’s going to give me my life back the minute I’ve got something to trade. I damn near pull out my pack and say,” Cigarette?” 

 

But my fear subsides in the moment I realise that Louis is all show and tell. He is as harmful as as a little hedgehog, and inside he’s scared. I don’t know of what, yet.

 

His best friends, Niall, Liam, and Zayn, visit him everyday and stay well past visiting hours because to them that term doesn’t apply. 

 

But when they do leave, Louis and I are left alone. He sits on the edge of his bed, playing with the sleeves of his too big sweater. He looks at me for a moment and asks,” You know what the worst part about being here is?” 

 

I suck in a breath and whisper, “What?” 

 

He breathes in sharply, almost like he’s going to cry, and he replies, “The worst part about being here is that you get all the free ice cream you want.”

 

He lets a few tears escape and says, “The worst part about that is realising there is nothing more they can do for you.”

 

I look at him while he wipes his eyes and I decide to move onto his bed. I wrap an arm around him because I know how he’s feeling. He says, “Ice cream can’t make everything okay.” 

 

And there’s no easy way of asking, and I know what he’s going to say, but maybe he just needs to say it, so I ask him anyways.

 

“Are you scared?”

 

Louis doesn’t even lower his voice when he replies, “Fuck yeah.” 

 

I listen to him say the word ‘fuck’ like a thirty year old man being with a nose bleed lowered into a shark tank, but he’s got a right to it. 

 

He lowers his head and apologises. I shake my head and tell him, “No Lou. If I takes you a swear word to get through it, swear like the devil is sitting there taking notes with a pen and pad.” 

 

He chuckles and plays with my t - shirt before wiping his eyes again and laying down, pulling me down with him. 

 

“Do you believe in angels…?” He asks me. I lay there and think about it for awhile. 

 

“I believe in one angel.” I say and turn my face, waiting for him to hate me. But instead he turns my head with his small, shaky hands and kisses me. He kisses me deeply and I follow in his lead. We kiss until the only thing I can taste is Louis. Then we lay in bed like two broken messes and we fall asleep soundly. 

 

Five months passed and we become closer and closer with each passing second. We become so close that I can tell what he’s thinking and how he’s feeling. His best friends become my best friends. They are all so nice and accepting. But none of them are as beautiful of a person as Louis. 

 

Louis never greets me with anything but smiles and kisses and a patience I’ve never seen from someone who has been through so much. 

 

And I try my hardest not to remind him that within a couple days I’ll be out of here, smoking cigarettes and taking my life for granted. 

 

And he’ll be planted in this bed like a flower that refuses to grow. I’ve been with him for five months and all I really know about why he is in here for so long is that he attempted suicide. The night he told me I held him because he was shaking so much and he tells me that he regrets it but in his eyes I can see that he only wants people to believe he does. 

 

And I want him to be fully happy but the truth is that there aren’t enough miracles to go around. And for every answered prayer there is a cricket with arthritis. 

 

Whenever I tell him this he always asks me why. And I always tell him the same thing. 

 

“The only reason why we can’t find the answers is because the search party didn’t invite us, and Louis, right now the crickets have arthritis.” 

 

So there is no music. No symphonies of nature swelling into crescendos, as if ripping halos into melodies that can keep a rhythm with the way out hearts beat. 

 

So we must shout until we shatter in our own vibrations, then let ourselves echo and grow, echo and grow, echo and grow, echo and grow distant.

 

Grow distant enough to know that as far as our efforts grow, we don't always get a reply. 

 

Louis and I cracked this world wide open and found that the prize inside was that we never lied to each other. We never told ourselves it was going to be easy. So we help each other so that even if God doesn’t, it wasn’t because we didn’t try. 

 

And I don’t often believe in angels but the day that I left Louis pulled a feather from his pillow and said, “ This is for you.” 

I half expected him to say, “See...this is the first one I grew.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Shane Koyczan's work. Hope you enjoyed :)


End file.
